


All the Small Things

by Modog34



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Psychic Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Talia Hale & Claudia Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:06:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modog34/pseuds/Modog34
Summary: Stiles has dreams that sometimes come true. The Argents are the new kids on the block. The Hale family is alive and well. For now, at least. Peter is an asshole, but in a good way? Derek and Laura are insufferable twins. Mama and Papa Stilinski try to hold on to their sanity as they raise a teenage boy who is more gifted than any of them realize. And Scott just wants to go on a date with a pretty girl.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 30
Kudos: 159





	1. Chpt. 1

The screams were deafening. Shrieks of pain, cries of fear, the sound of people yelling out the names of their loved ones. Stiles could smell the smoke permeating the air, could feel the immense heat on his skin. It gave him the same feeling as being sunburnt, raw and skin deep. Adults were huddling over their children, trying to shield them from the flames licking at the staircase and walls. The smell of burning hair and flesh, pungent and horrifying, was so strong that it made him gag. 

The werewolves were busting the windows out with their bare fists, blood dripping down their knuckles. One man near him kicked the front door open, splintering it into pieces. He was halfway shifted and snarling as he made it onto the porch. The sounds of several gunshots rang out. Some missed the man and lodged themselves into the wood and brick that made up the outside of the house. Several bullets did hit their target, and he fell to the ground in a heap, unmoving. A roar, full of pain and anguish, rang out from somewhere below. Stiles was too scared to move, even though he knew he had to. He lowered himself to the ground and covered his nose with his shirt. The gray smoke was thick and cloying, making it difficult to see. He started crawling, unsure of where he was going. No one seemed to notice he was there. A heavily pregnant woman fell to the floor nearby, completely out cold. Stiles made his way over to her, shaking her frantically. 

“Wake up! Wake up!” He tried to yell, but the coughing made it difficult to get the words out. There was a creaking noise above him, like the house was struggling to hold itself together. Smoke filled his lungs, choking him. The pregnant lady wasn’t waking up. More and more bodies started dropping around him. A glimmer of fire light reflecting off of a golden necklace caught his attention. His eyes stung, his vision swimming, as he tried desperately to hold onto consciousness. Through one of the broken windows, Stiles could see movement outside. A brief flicker of hope formed. Maybe someone had seen the smoke and called the fire department? Or maybe his dad was here with the police? That hope faded quickly when more gunshots rang out.

One boy, young, maybe thirteen at most, started crawling out the window. His skin tore on the broken glass, but it didn’t slow him down. He half climbed, half fell out onto the grass. Golden eyes blazing, he slowly rose to his feet, but unsteadily swayed back and forth with every step forward. He growled, low and dangerous, before lunging towards whoever was out there. Instead of finding his target, he hit what looked like a force field, and bounced off of it, slamming back into the side of the house. Laughter could be heard from several people outside. Words were spoken, but were indecipherable. Stiles couldn’t hear much beyond the roaring of the fire, and the blood curdling screams. 

A pause. A gun cocking. The boy let out one last roar that was full of fear and rage, before he was cut off by a bullet to the head. 

Stiles was horrified, and tired, and so very hot. His arms gave out and he laid on the floor, too weak to get back up. Clinging to what little life he had left, he thought of his parents, and how devastated they were going to be. The creaking around him grew louder. Seconds later, the upper floor of the house caved and fell. Then there was nothing but darkness. 

  
  


Stiles woke with a gasp, chest heaving and painful. Swallowing thickly, he sat up in bed, rubbing his hands over his face. Though he felt reassured at knowing he was safe and sound at home, the phantom smell of smoke lingered. His pulse was still racing, and he had an awful headache. The clock on the nightstand read 3:09 a.m. He wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. 

Snatching his dream journal off his desk on his way out, Stiles creeped by his parent’s bedroom, slipping into the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, he filled up a glass of water with trembling hands. He guzzled it down, refilled it, and drank that one, too. After downing three Tylenol, he lounged on the couch, tucking his knees beneath him. Flicking on the lamp, he opened his dream book, and began to draw.

“Woah, you don’t look so good. Are you sick?”

“Morning, Scott.”

“Sorry. Good morning.” A pause. “Are you sick?”

“No, I just didn’t sleep well last night.” Stiles pulled his econ book out and closed his locker. 

“Another nightmare?” Scott asked, as they made their way to first period. 

“Yep,” he sighed. Scott had known about his dreams for years. Often, Stiles would tell him about some of the less traumatizing ones, just to pick his brain. His ideas for what he thought they meant were hilarious. 

“Alright, you delinquents! It’s time for class! Get in here!” Coach Finstock was ushering students in the classroom, his arms flailing like a windmill. 

“I don’t know if I can deal with having Coach for first period,” Scott said miserably. ‘He’s so loud, and I’m still not fully awake.” 

“He’s not  _ that _ bad.” 

Scott gave him a pointed look before turning his gaze back to Finstock. 

“Greenburg!” Coach Finstock yelled, looking wild eyed. “You’re not even in this class!”

“I see your point. Forget I said anything.”

Scott smiled, and they took advantage of Coach’s distraction by slipping into the classroom unnoticed. They chose two seats at the back, with Scott sitting in front of him. Moments later, a beautiful brunette walked in, biting her lip nervously. She peered around the room, looking at the empty seats, before sitting down in front of them. Her long, shiny hair was curled, and was the same shade of brown as her eyes. The girl rummaged through her bag with a frown on her face. Then she turned to Scott and asked sheepishly, “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

Scott, the dork, was literally too smitten to speak. Instead, he just stared unblinkingly and handed her his pen. The girl took it gingerly with a small, “Thanks.” She looked at Scott like she was concerned for his state of mind. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Hi, I’m Stiles Stilinski. This is my best friend Scott McCall.” He said, placing both his hands on Scott’s shoulders and squeezing. “Scott, buddy, say hello to…?”

“Allison Argent,” she said, flashing her dimples. 

“Say hello, Scott.”

‘Hello, Scott,” He said, still completely enamoured. Allison looked like she was contemplating moving to another seat where she wouldn’t have a total weirdo sitting behind her. Meanwhile, Stiles was resisting the urge to faceplant on his desk.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “ _ Anyway _ , are you new here, Allison? I haven’t seen you before.” 

“Yeah,” she brightened up. “My parents and I just moved here a couple of weeks ago.”

“Awesome! Maybe we can hang out sometime?” He not so subtly poked Scott in the back.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“I like dogs,” Scott blurted. 

Stiles and Allison shared twin looks of confusion. 

“I mean, do you like dogs? I work at a vet’s office, and we just got this new litter of puppies. Their mom didn’t make it, so we’ve been keeping them warm and feeding them with bottles. If you’re not, like, allergic or anything, I could take you to see them sometime?”

Bless Scott and his adorable puppy dog eyes. Miraculously, Allison seemed charmed by his rambling. “I love dogs.”

Scott beamed. “Great. We could-”

“Enough chit chat, you teenage menaces. It’s time for me to give you a lesson on the corrupt capitalist society that we live in.” Coach Finstock started taking attendance. 

Scott turned around in his desk and whispered, “Hey.”

“What?” Stiles whispered back. 

“Can I borrow a pen?”

  
  


Chemistry was Stiles least favorite subject. It was boring, and it was taught by the  _ worst _ person alive, Mr. Harris. They shared a mutual hatred for each other. Which is why he was not surprised in the least that when he decided to choose groups for that week's chem lab, instead of sticking him with Scott or Lydia or Danny, he put him with Cora Hale. Who honestly kind of scared him. Stiles was pretty sure Cora scared everyone. Last year, a boy had been hitting on her, and didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t interested, even when she actually said the words, “I’m not interested.” He tried to slap her ass once, and she grabbed him by his shirt,  _ lifted him off the ground _ , and shoved him into the lockers. Ever since then, the hallways part like the Red Sea whenever she walks down them. Even some of the teachers avoid making eye contact with her. 

“Move to sit with your partners, and turn to page 56,” Harris said, pushing his black framed glasses up his nose.

“Hey,” Stiles said, drawing the sound out as he sat down hesitantly beside Cora, who hadn’t even looked up from the phone she was hiding in her lap. 

“So...partners. Yay!”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Yay.”

“I’m sensing some sarcasm.”

“I’m sensing an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that, I’m sure you’re a very smart person.”

Cora finally looked at him. Then down his body, and back up. She wasn’t doing it to check him out, she was doing it to size Stiles up and see what he was made of. Apparently, whatever she saw wasn’t impressive because she turned back to her phone without another word. 

“Okay, then,” Stiles sighed. 

Class continued on, and he started to nod off. His face, which had been resting in his hand, started to droop. Long sleepless nights and early school mornings didn’t mix well. A movement beside him startled him out of his dozing. Thinking it was Harris, he shot up and almost flailed out of his chair. Except it was just Cora taking off her bomber jacket. That’s when he saw it.

The necklace. The golden one the dead body in his dream had worn. It was the  _ same one.  _

Stiles could feel his blood pressure rising. Sure, he’s had dreams that came true before. Many times, actually. But who hasn’t had deja vu? What he dreamed last night, though, with the wolf people? There’s no way that could be true. Unless…

He swallowed thickly. Cora looked at him out of the corner of her eye, studying him. The auburn haired girl then flicked her eyes down to Stiles’ chest, like she was looking through him with xray vision. 

Or listening to his heartbeat. 

It can’t be possible. Then again, a lot of people would say that what he can do is impossible. So, maybe it’s not that crazy after all. He side-eyed Cora, who was still staring at him like he was a rubix cube she couldn’t solve. “Why are you so nervous?”

“What? Me? I’m not.” Judging by the look on Cora’s face, she was unconvinced.

“Yes, you are. I can tell.  _ So _ ,” she scooted her chair closer to Stiles with a mischievous smile on her face. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.  _ You’re _ nervous.” Realizing what he just said, he gave Cora an awkward laugh. She looked amused, and leaned closer.  _ Did she just sniff me? _

When the bell rang, Stiles bolted for the door. 

  
  
  


The house was in shambles. It was charred and blackened, and covered in ash. The steps creaked ominously under his feet when he pushed open the busted up door. Bodies, or what used to be bodies, littered the floor. He knew they were people once. He could tell by the bones. 

A femur here, a tibia there. A rib bone or two. Even the occasional skull.

The house had become a graveyard. 

There was moonlight coming through what used to be the windows. A burnt piece of curtain still hung on to one of them, the fabric swaying in the wind. What little light that came through had reflected on something shiny amidst the ash. Stiles walked over to it, careful not to disturb the piles of cremated remains. Leaning down, he picked up the chain of the necklace. It was golden, with a round pendant. In the middle, there looked like some kind of gemstone, but it was hard to make out in the darkness. He ran his thumb back and forth over it, as if he were in a trance.

A loud bell started ringing, startling him.  _ Ding dong, ding dong. _ He turned and found a grandfather clock leaning against the wall. The rich brown wood stood out against the slate grey backdrop. Despite the rest of the house being completely destroyed and covered in soot, the clock stood tall and unharmed. It read three o’clock. 

Movement flittered behind him, and he swirled around to see who it was, but found nothing there. Anxiety filled him, making him want to wring his hands a la Lady Macbeth. Movement again, to the side this time. Whoever, or  _ whatever _ it was, it was fast. 

The creak of a floorboard sounded behind him. Then another, and another. Slow and steady, as if someone were walking towards him. Tears sprung in Stiles eyes uncontrollably. He felt petrified, too scared to turn around. A gentle breeze fluttered by, causing the hair on his arms to stand up. Whatever it was, it felt like evil, it felt  _ monstrous _ , and it was standing right behind him. It was breathing on him, a screeching noise on the inhale, and an inhuman grunt on the exhale. Stiles closed his eyes, feeling a tear fall down his cheek. Slowly, so very slowly, he turned around. 

A hooded figure stood before him. It was covered in black, head to toe. It’s face wasn’t a face at all, just a shadow. A dark bony hand with elongated fingers came up, just about to caress his cheek and then-

  
  


“Stiles!”

He shot up and stared around wildly. It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings as their living room. He was on the couch, with a sky blue blanket covering his legs. Claudia had knelt down on the floor beside him, looking concerned. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, running his fingers through what little hair he had. “I’m fine.”

Claudia gave him a skeptical look. “Okay. Think you’re up for helping me with dinner? It might get your mind off of whatever is troubling you.”

“Sure, just give me a minute.”

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Claudia patted her son on the shoulder, and made her way to the kitchen. Once his mother had left, Stiles put his palm to his cheek. He could still feel the phantom caress. 

  
  


Later that night, he got on his computer to research dreams. Hours were spent perusing websites. Some were about the meaning of dreams, others were about dream walking. Daydreaming, astral projection, psychic visions. The longer he spent searching, the more overloaded with information he became. 

There was a soft knock at his door before Claudia popped her head in. “You’re dad’s working the night shift, and I’m heading to bed.”

“Night,” Stiles said absentmindedly, not looking away from his laptop. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You looked pretty spooked earlier.”

“I’m good, mom. It was just a bad dream. No big deal.”

“If you say so.” Claudia came in and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, mom.”  _ Anything, except this.  _

“Alright, good night sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Claudia shut the door quietly behind her. Stiles gave a big yawn, and checked the time on his phone. 12:23 a.m.

He was tired, and his bed looked inviting, but his mind was too busy to go to sleep right now. He kept going back to the werewolves and the necklace, the clock and the shadow person. What if it’s all real? What if the Hale’s aren’t human? If it’s all real, then that meant he had to tell them about the fire. Otherwise, he was just letting them die. 

He looked at his phone again. 12:29 a.m. His mind was made up. 

Stiles snuck downstairs, grabbed his keys, and got in his jeep. The Hale’s lived out on the edge of town, right by the preserve. They actually owned several acres of it, so finding the house wasn’t hard. All you had to do was follow the ‘No Trespassing’ signs that were placed everywhere. It was a huge white house, with pale blue shutters and a gray roof. There was a wraparound porch, a chimney, and even a balcony. The yard was well maintained, with lots of flowers. There looked to be a greenhouse at the side, rectangular with frosted windows, and a garage building out back. Definitely a place that housed a lot of people. Instead of turning down their driveway, he decided to park on the side of the road. 

Hopping out of his jeep, he made his way to the house while thinking about what he was going to say.  _ Hi, Mrs. Hale. My name is Stiles, and your entire family is about to go down in flames. Literally.  _ That would go over well. 

Stiles groaned to himself. His phone read 12:54 a.m. Maybe he should just stay by the treeline and way for the clock to pass three, and then he could go home. But just because he thought he knew what time it was going to happen, didn’t mean that he knew what  _ night _ the fire was going to happen,  _ if _ it happened, and he couldn’t keep sneaking out and traipsing through the woods every night.

“Can I help you?”

“Aah!” Stiles yelped, pivoting around on his heel so fast he tripped himself. There was a man standing a few feet away with a smarmy grin on his face. He was tall and well built, with light brown hair, and looked to be in his late thirties. 

“What’s a boy like you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“I’m...I’m just…”

He raised an eyebrow to silently let him know that he was aware whatever excuse Stiles came up with next would be complete bullshit. “Perhaps you should run along home, little one.”

Stiles bristled at that. “I’m not little. And I can’t go home.”

His gaze softened, but only just. “If you’re in trouble, I can take you to the police. Or call CPS.”

Stiles scrunched his face in confusion, before realization dawned on him. “Oh. No, not like that. I meant...Wait, what are  _ you _ doing here?” He eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Do you always ramble this much?”

“When I’m nervous, yes.”

“I make you nervous?” He looked pleased about it. 

“A little,” Stiles answered honestly. “And you didn’t answer my questions.”

“I live here.”

“You’re a Hale?”

“Peter Hale, specifically. Now, who are you?” He took a few steps forwards. Stiles took a few steps back. 

“I’m Stiles.”

“And you just decided to go spelunking through the woods in the middle of the night? Is that something you do often, Stiles?” 

Boy, he did not like the way he said Stiles’ name. What could he tell him? If he told Peter the truth, and he was wrong about everything, he would sound insane. If he didn’t tell the truth, and was right about everything, then innocent people could die. 

“I’d like to speak with...your alpha,” he told him, trying to sound more confident than he felt. 

Saying that was a mistake. As soon as the word’s left his mouth, Peter’s face lost all amusement, and turned serious. His eyes flashed a blue, eerily bright in the darkness of the night. “Who are you?”

Holy shit.  _ Holy shit! _ He was right!

“You’re really a werewolf?” Stiles was excited and amazed, and maybe a little frightened. 

Peter was perplexed for a moment, then his eyes faded back to normal. “You weren’t sure?”

“Nope.” Peering at her phone, it read 1:05 a.m. If the murderers came tonight, he was running out of time. 

“Look, I know this is weird and that I’m technically trespassing on your private property, but it’s really important I talk to your alpha. If an alpha is even a thing. It’s life or death.” He was being sincere when he said it, and hoped that came through in his voice. 

Peter stood nearby, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Stiles got the distinct impression that he was sizing him up, much like Cora had done. 

“Very well, my dear. I’ll take you to my alpha,” he grinned, well,  _ wolfishly,  _ while gesturing expansively towards the house in the distance.


	2. Chpt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the alpha, and delivers his message.

Stiles tried not to feel paranoid with a werewolf at his back.  _ I’m being led tino the wolf’s den, literally.  _ He paused when they reached the porch.

“What are you waiting for? Go in.” Peter said it like it was a dare. 

“On second thought, I think I’m just gonna go back home. My parents are probably freaking out right now,” he replied nervously. Peter’s arm shot out, blocking his path down the steps. 

“Oh, I’m afraid I must insist.” He was eerily calm as he put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and guided him into the house. The second he opened the door, Stiles held his breath. This was definitely the place. It had the same crown molding, and the same staircase. He remembered crawling across the hardwood floors, and how the vaulted ceilings had caved in on them all. They walked further into the foyer, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare at the ground. They were standing in the exact spot where he saw the pregnant lady fall. He gulped loudly, trying to swallow away the thickness in his throat. Peter, who still had a hand locked on his shoulder, looked at him strangely.

“Come down,” he said. Stiles was confused at first, thinking the blond man was talking to him. Peter pointedly gazed to the top of the stairs, where a woman stood, tall and regal. 

“We have a guest,” Peter announced, eyebrows arching in amusement. 

“Yes. I can see that,” she spoke softly. The lady had tan skin, and black hair that reached down to her shoulder blades. She was pretty, but looked like the kind of person that didn’t smile much. Stiles could tell just by her presence that she was the alpha. She exuded strength and poise, and descended the stairs the way a queen would descend from her throne. 

“My name is Talia Hale. You’re Stiles, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, too nervous to ask how she knew his name. Talia must have sensed his distress, answering his unvoiced question. 

“The Sheriff and I have worked together from time to time. I recall seeing your picture in his office. I bet he has no idea that you’re out here, does he?” She phrased it as a question, but Stiles could tell she already knew the answer. 

“No. No, he does not. And I would really,  _ really _ appreciate it if it stayed that way.”

Talia smiled good naturedly. “I suppose that depends on why you came.”

_ Well, here goes nothing.  _ He took a deep breath in through his nose, and slowly blew it out. “Just let me preface this by saying that it’s going to sound crazy.” He paused, before gesturing between the duo. “Then again, you’re werewolves so maybe it won’t sound so crazy to you after all.”

“He rambles when he’s nervous,” Peter informed, while trying to suppress a smile. “I make him nervous.” 

The smug bastard was definitely proud of that. 

“I think your family is in danger,” he blurted out. All traces of amusement left Peter’s face, and Talia’s gaze sharpened. 

“What makes you say that?” Talia asked. Though her voice was calm, the clenched fists at her sides didn’t escape Stiles’ notice. 

“Just trust me on this.”

“Trust you?” Peter scoffed. “We barely know you.”

“And yet, you invited me, a complete stranger, into your home. I have a feeling you don’t do that often. Instinctively, you must’ve known that I was an okay person, or I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Peter, damn him, actually appeared to be  _ impressed _ , and grinned broadly. 

“I just...I have dreams that come true sometimes,” he mumbled. Peter looked doubtful, but Talia was curious. 

He sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. “A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that this house was on  _ fire _ . Everyone was trapped inside, and there were these people with guns outside shooting at everyone. Then there was this weird, invisible wall thing. And the next night, I dreamed of a creepy ass shadow person!” he finished, arms flailing. 

“A shadow person?”

Stiles sucked in a breath and let it out with a whispered, “Fuck.” A woman he hadn’t even known was there appeared from around the staircase. He calmed down a little when he recognized her as one of the librarians at the Beacon Hills Public Library. 

“Oh. Hi, Mrs. Evelyn.” 

“Hello, Stiles. Please, call me Evie.” She had a kind face, with frizzy brown hair and hazel eyes. She was one of those girls that just grew up as a natural beauty. In her soft British accent, she asked, “What did you mean when you said a shadow person?”

“Oh, um. Yeah, I dreamed of a dark figure in a vaguely person like shape? Super creepy.”

“Did you see it’s face?” Talia asked, suddenly a little  _ too _ interested. 

“No. It didn’t really have one. Like I said, it was just a shadow.” He tried to downplay the experience, because the Hales’ sudden interest was kind of creeping him out. Maybe this was a mistake. What if these people didn’t want him to leave, now that he knew their big secret. He peeked at his phone, which read 1:32 am. If the fire happened tonight, he had done his part. He had told the family. There was nothing more he could do. “It’s really late, and I should definitely be getting home.”

“I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel. I can take you,” Talia insisted.

“Thank you, but I can’t leave my jeep.”

“Peter can follow us. We’ll drop you off home, safe and sound.” The look Talia gave him was a distinctly motherly face. Stiles knew that face well. It was clear he wasn’t going to win this argument. 

“Sure, that sounds great. Thanks.” It definitely did not sound great, but he agreed nonetheless. Besides, he  _ was _ feeling a little tired. 

Talia nodded, before ascending the stairs. She came down a few minutes later with a handsome man who had a mop of curly black hair, and silver glasses. His plaid pajama bottoms had a hole in the knee, and had a yellow shirt on that said,  _ Save the Bees.  _ His socks had green and purple stripes which reminded Stiles of Barney. He almost snorted, but managed to hold it back. He could see Talia and Peter being werewolves, but this guy? No fucking way. 

“Stiles, this is my husband, David.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” David said. Stiles held his hand out for a shake, but David ended up hugging him instead. Weirded out, all Stiles could do was awkwardly pat the man’s back. The guy smelled like lavender. 

Looking over David’s shoulder, he saw Peter smiling wickedly, clearly amused by the uncomfortable situation Stiles was in. Talia put her coat on, and whispered something into her husband’s ear. David’s face went from sleepy to alert in seconds. He nodded sagely to his wife, before kissing her on the cheek, and went back upstairs. 

  
  
  
  


A soft rock ballad played on the radio, though Stiles could barely hear it because the volume was turned down so low. It must be a werewolf thing.  _ Jesus, there were actual werewolves! _ _ They really existed. _ Talia parked her sleek, black Lexus across the street from his house, while Peter turned the jeep into their driveway. Talia undid her seatbelt and turned towards Stiles. 

“I appreciate you coming over tonight to warn us.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

“I hope you realize how delicate this situation is,” Talia said imploringly, eyes roaming over his face. Stiles could definitely understand how she was the alpha. Her gaze felt like she was peering into his  _ soul _ . 

“Delicate?”

“Our secret is closely guarded, and we keep it that way for a reason.”

“The people with guns?”

“Yes. We call them hunters. They hunt down and kill our kind, as well as other non-humans.”

He perked up at that. “Other? As in, werewolves aren’t the only...um... supernaturally inclined beings out there?”

Talia smiled amusedly. “No, we’re not. Perhaps, with your gift, you are one of the non-humans as well.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted. “There’s nothing super about me.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Usually, when Stiles was self deprecating, he would get looks of pity, mostly from his parents or Scott. However, Talia’s eyes held nothing but sympathy. “I disagree. You are very special, Stiles. One of a kind.” The alpha laid her hand on top of his and squeezed gently. “Never doubt that.”

_ What was with these Hales and their uncomfortable situations? _ Unsure of what to say, he just swallowed thickly and undid his belt “Thanks for the ride.”

“It’s no trouble,” Talia replied, never taking her eyes off of him. He shut the door quietly, and crossed the street to his front yard. Peter, with that same air of superiority, was leaning against his jeep with his arms folded. “Home sweet home.”

“Yep, sure is. That means you can go now.” 

“Well, since I have your permission,” he replied sarcastically. 

Stiles was stopped in his tracks when Peter grabbed his arm, almost causing him to slip off the porch step. His grip was firm, though not particularly painful, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t take much for Peter to snap his arm like a twig. “My sister is the Alpha. She has to be diplomatic. I, however, do not. I am what us wolves call, the right hand of the Alpha.”

“Meaning?” Stiles was both annoyed and afraid, which in his opinion wasn’t a winning combination. 

“ _ Meaning _ , I am the pack enforcer. When it’s time to get our hands dirty, I’m the one that gets the job done.”

“You’re threatening me,” he stated, a little disappointed. He had expected something a little more...intimidating from a werewolf. 

Peter rolled his ice blue eyes. “Obviously. What? Did you think we were just going to send you on your merry way, knowing our most coveted secret?”

“No. But I had expected more subtlety from you.” He gave him a once over, and forced an unimpressed look on his face. Yes, he was scared, but he also wasn’t one to back down easily, and didn’t want to give Peter the satisfaction of seeing how creeped out he was. 

Peter saw right through his false bravado, smirking in amusement. “You’re a fun one, Stiles. I’m going to enjoy having you around more.”

“What?” He warned them about his dreams. He had snuck out in the middle of the night. He had done enough, so why did they still want him around? “You  _ want _ me to come back?”

“Don’t look so surprised, my dear boy. We still need your...gift. We may need more information.”

“So, you want me around so you can use me?” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. He didn’t even know these people, so why should he care so much about what they thought? Aside from Scott, Stiles was pretty much a loner, partly by choice, and partly by general social exclusion. It was what he was used to. Still, he had been looked down on enough by his peers, he didn’t need the Hales looking down on him, too. I

Insecurity was a hard feeling to overcome. 

Peter’s eyes, surprisingly, softened. “For now, yes. If you have more dreams, or remember anything specific, we need you to let us know. You have shown us that you can be brave, and selfless. Now show us that you can be loyal, too.” 

He turned his back on Stiles before he could reply. The lamplight overhead illuminated the man, and in the distance he could see Talia starting her car. “Hey, creeper wolf,” he whispered, wanting to see if a werewolf could hear him from that far away. Peter stopped in his tracks and turned towards him, one eyebrow raised high as if to silently say, ‘ _ well?’ _

“The grandfather clock I saw in my dream? It was around three o’clock at night. I don’t know what day, I thought it might have been tonight. But you should probably stay up the rest of the night, just in case…” He trailed off, figuring the older man would catch his drift. 

Peter simply inclined his head in acknowledgement, before walking away into the shadows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! I promise Derek will appear in the next chapter.


	3. Chpt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles reminisces, and the Hale twins finally come home.

Gainsbury park was one of Stiles’ favorite spots. He liked to come here and sit at a picnic table, and take in his surroundings. It was always bittersweet. The park was small, vibrant in its colors and always had a steady flow of people, but not enough to make it crowded. Across the park, there was a child’s birthday party happening. Stiles saw the little boy blowing out the candles on his cake, as everybody clapped. The boy grinned up at his mother, his cheeks rosy and round. There was a pang in his chest at the sight. It had been so long since he had been here with family. His dad worked all the time, and his mom was often busy with her charity work and book club meetings. 

Often, his aunt Tatiana would bring him here, sometimes with Scott tagging along. Some of the best memories Stiles had were from this park. Aunt Tatiana, with her wild curls and mischievous grin, would chase him around in a game of tag, or play hide and seek with him. She found him every time. She would climb on the jungle gym, ignoring the stares of the other adults. He had envied his aunt’s ability to shut other people’s opinions from her mind, to just disregard social norms. Stiles knew he was too old to play on the jungle gyms now without looking like a weirdo. Instead, he just people watched. Like a weirdo. 

He sketched out the lines of the little boy’s face in his purple sketchbook. He had already drawn the boy’s mother, and some of the other party guests. He tried not to be obvious when he looked back at the party for reference. This was something else he used to do with his aunt. They would sit in the grass and talk for hours, in between bites of chips and sandwiches, and take turns sketching things, feeding off of each other’s creativity. 

When his aunt died two years ago in a hiking accident, Stiles had been devastated. He didn’t speak for a month, unable to put into words the grief he felt after she was gone. His dreams, which until that point had been pretty PG, albeit confusing, had become twisted, darker. Often, he had nightmares. Or visions of nightmarish things happening, at least. A lot of what he drew now were images he pulled from his dreams. 

His dreams, which led to the realization that werewolves existed. Fucking  _ werewolves _ . It was beyond crazy, but apparently crazy was his new reality. He smiled to himself, thinking about how his Aunt Tatiana would react to the knowledge of werewolves. She would have accepted it wholeheartedly, without question. Anybody else would say he was just attention seeking, or had an active imagination, but not her. She would believe him without question, without hesitation. 

_ There are more things in heaven and earth,  _ she had once quoted.  _ Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. _

If only she were here now to see just how true that was. 

The air was crisp and cool, and Derek took a deep breath in, relishing the combined scents of pine trees, dirt, and  _ pack _ . It was so different from how it was in New York. There it was all bustling traffic and whistles from people flagging down taxis. It smelled of asphalt and pollution, and was overcrowded with very little space to roam. 

“Hey, slacker,” Laura said, breaking him out of his reverie. “How about you help with these boxes?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “There wouldn’t be so many boxes if you had just left all of this useless crap behind.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Laura replied, in a tone that meant she knew exactly what he was talking about. “This stuff is priceless.”

“Yeah, because no one would pay a single penny for half of this stuff.”

“Whatever, dork. You’re the one that brought enough books to fill a library.”

“Books are useful.  _ This  _ is not.” He held up a rusted wrought iron padlock the size of his fist. 

“We may need to lock something for safekeeping,” she shrugged, stacking up three boxes and lifting them easily. 

“Right,” he replied, drawing the word out. He picked up three black trash bags full of clothes that predominantly belonged to Laura, and slung them over his shoulder. “Convincing.”

“Shut up.” She staggered around the car, unable to see where she was going. She craned her neck, trying to peek around the boxes. “The sooner we get this stuff inside, the sooner I can take these heels off.” 

“You do know that wearing them is a choice, right? You don’t have to suffer on purpose.”

She looked at him scathingly as he walked past her to unlock the door. “It’s fashion, Derek. Beauty is pain. I don’t expect you to---”

“What’s that scent?” Derek asked upon entering their home. He sat the bags down to the side. “Who was here?” It was unusual for any of them to bring guests in. It was too risky, so he found the unfamiliar smell strange. 

“It smells kind of familiar.” Laura said, dropping the boxes unceremoniously in the foyer. 

“I guess,” he agreed absentmindedly. He did recall smelling something similar, but he couldn’t place it. 

“My babies!” Talia called out, rushing to her kids and gripping them both in a strong armed hug. 

“Mom, we’re in our twenties,” Laura groaned, though she hugged back just as tightly. Derek inhaled his alpha’s scent deeply, finding comfort in it. It was the first time his wolf felt completely at ease in months. 

Talia pulled back, and smiled warmly between the twins, cupping their cheeks. “You say that like it matters.”

“Hey, assholes. How was the Big City?” 

Derek and Laura looked at each other and smirked whileTalia scolded her youngest son. “Simon! Language!”

“Yes, mother,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up before turning his attention back to his phone and heading into the living room. Talia pinched her fingers between her eyes and sighed heavily. “What am I going to do with him?”

“Suffocate him with love?” Laura suggested. 

“Or just suffocate him,” Derek replied. 

Talia sighed even more dramatically. “Then what am I going to do with you two?”

“You could torture Laura by making her actually do laundry for once.”

“Hey!” She slapped his arm. “I do laundry!”

“Once a month.”

“Well, if you had more than five outfits to your name, you wouldn’t have to wash clothes so frequently.” She stuck her nose up in superiority.

“Is that why your floor is always covered in clothes?”

“It is not!” She turned towards her mother, who was watching them with fond amusement. “Mom, I swear. I keep my room spotless.”

“You heard the lie there, right?” Derek grinned at his mother. Laura squawked in indignation, and slapped his arm. 

“It’s good to have you both home.”

“It’s good to be home,” Laura said sincerely. 

“I’ll let you bring your things to your rooms. Afterwards, I want you to do your laundry,” she pointed at Laura, before pointing at her son. “And I want you to help me with dinner.”

Both the twins whined simultaneously. 

“Oh, don’t even start it. You know that has no effect on me anymore. I’ve grown immune.”

“Dad hasn’t. Where is he?” Laura asked. 

“At the office. He should be on his way soon. Now quit stalling, and do what your mother tells you.”

“Fine,” they both muttered. 


	4. Chpt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a mini chapter to make up for how slow I've been updating. The next chapter should be out by the end of the week. *fingers crossed*   
> Until then, enjoy some Hale family bonding!

“Aaah!” Cora screamed as she bounded down the stairs and hopped on Derek’s back. 

“Geez, you’re getting heavy,” Derek teased, grunting exaggeratedly. “Mom, what have you been feeding her?”

Cora slapped his shoulder. “Rude.”

He reached around and grabbed her upper arms, flipping her over his head. She landed on her feet gracefully, expecting the move. She tried to sweep his leg, but he jumped up in time to avoid it. Cora pounced on Derek, throwing all her weight against him. He caught her easily, flipped her around, and put her in a headlock. 

“Let go, you brute!”

“Say it.”

“Not a chance,” Cora groaned out, pawing uselessly at his arms. 

“Say it.”

“Ugh, you’re the fucking worst.”

“Say. It.”

She rolled her eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Derek is the smartest person in the world, and I will never live up to his brilliance.”

He released her instantly. “There, that wasn’t so hard.” 

“You suck,” she grinned, her words lacking any real heat. They pulled each other into a hug. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too. New York was way too crowded.”

“That’s what Laura said. Too crowded and too loud.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I don’t have to go back anymore.”

“So you’re sticking around for a while?” Cora asked, trying to act nonchalant, but Derek could hear the hope in her voice. 

“Yeah, Cor. I’m not going anywhere.”

The auburn haired girl grinned mischievously at her big brother. “Good.” She bounded over to the kitchen counter, where a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies sat to cool. She snatched two and shoved them into her mouth, her cheeks rounding out like a chipmunks. “Mom! Derek’s eating the cookies!” Cora yelled, before running past a wide eyed Derek, weaving through his arms with practiced ease. Her cackling could be heard as she ran back upstairs. Derek planned to chase after her, but Talia glided into the room, blocking his way out. 

“I didn’t do it,” he insisted, feeling like he was ten years old again.

Talia looked at her adult son, his eyes wide and his face desperate, and snorted before swatting him with the dish towel she had slung over her shoulder. “No wrestling in the house. You’ve been home ten minutes and you’re already becoming a bad influence.”

“She started it.”

“How old are you again?”

“Too old for you to ground me.”

“Sweetheart, you’ll never be too old for me to ground you.”

Derek laughed softly. He had missed his mother. He had missed his  _ home _ . Talia handed him a head of lettuce. He followed the silent order and began rinsing it off in the sink. “Who came over?”

“Hmm?” his mother hummed absentmindedly as she diced some tomatoes. 

“There was a scent here. Sort of familiar. Who was it?”

“Oh, yes. It was one of Cora’s classmates,” Talia replied stiltedly. 

Derek nodded, getting the sense that his mother was trying to avoid something. “School project?”

“Somewhat.”

“Did she wolf out on them or something?”

“Not...exactly.”

He growled in annoyance. “Mom.”

“I know,” she sighed. “There is something I need to discuss with you and Laura. This girl is related to it, in a way.”

“What is it?” Derek asked, already feeling anxious. He didn’t trust anything that involved unfamiliar humans. He had made that mistake before. 

“Nothing urgent, love. It can wait until after dinner. Let’s just enjoy your homecoming, okay?” Her eyes were pleading, and he couldn’t ignore her request. 

“Okay,” he nodded, but the unsettled feeling solidified. “We’ll wait.”


End file.
